


The Photograph

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-11-26
Updated: 1999-11-26
Packaged: 2018-11-10 14:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11128761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Series 3, and the real Ray Vecchio's feeling lonely





	The Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).
    
    
    The Photograph
    --- ----------
    
    Who am I?
    
    Every morning, just as I get out of bed, I look in the mirror and I ask
    myself that same question.  Every morning I hope it's the same answer.
    
    Armando Langustini.
    
    My life depends on it.
    
    ----------
    
    I've been undercover now for two months.  Undercover in the mob, that's
    a dangerous place to be.  I can't afford to make mistakes like being
    the wrong person, like being caught off-guard.  I had to leave myself
    behind completely.  My friends, my family, are nothing but memories.
    My life now is just the contents of a file, a blue file somewhere with
    my name on it: Langustini A. 
    
    Was this how it felt to be alone?  How my best friend in the whole world
    felt two years ago, coming to Chicago?  I realise now how much he needed
    me then, just like I need him now.  All I could bring with me are my
    memories, anything else was too dangerous.  No evidence, no reminders,
    just me and my memories. 
    
    It was just after we first met, our first photograph together.  This
    tourist couple were hanging around outside the consulate, and Fraser
    was doing his wooden Indian thing.  I had to admit, he looked good doing
    it.  If anybody was gonna be chosen to stand out front and be Canadian,
    I would've chosen Fraser.  He didn't move a muscle the whole time he
    was stood there.  He'd come thousands of miles to catch his father's
    killer, and he never even blinked when I was telling him the progress
    on the case I'd been making.  I couldn't believe anybody could take their
    job so seriously.  Fraser always was pretty hard to believe. 
    
    It's out there somewhere, in somebody's album, or on a slide somewhere.
    They've probably used it to bore the ass off of their friends and family.
    "We went to Chicago," they'd say, "and we saw a Mountie."  And they'd
    be looking at me, with one of my best photogenic smiles and my arm around
    Benny.  Me and Benny, together.  I've been imagining that picture right
    there on the wall.  I can stare at that wall and that picture for hours,
    me and Benny.  Together.  If I can keep that; if I can keep us, our friendship;
    I can keep myself together. 
    
    Some people might have said it's driving me crazy.  I say it's all that's
    keeping me sane. 
    
    ----------
    
    Who am I?
    
    Every night, just before I go to sleep, I stare at the wall and I ask
    myself that same question.  Every night I hope it's the same answer.
    
    Raymond Vecchio.
    
    My life depends on it.
    
    


End file.
